


Clingy

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 02:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire actually has work to do and Enjolras isn't happy with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clingy

**Author's Note:**

> Stupid dumbs being dumb. My babies.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: anything you recognize can and will be used against me in a court of law, but only if I claim it as my own, which I don't.

Enjolras rolled over in bed, hands automatically reaching for Grantaire, though they closed on empty air instead. He blinked blearily at Grantaire’s side of the bed, confused this early in the morning as to why Grantaire was not there. “Grantaire?” he asked, even though his brain was slowly waking up enough to tell him Grantaire wasn’t here.

He sat up, the covers pooling around his waist as he looked around. He saw a Post-It note on the mirror and stood to read it. In Grantaire’s surprisingly neat handwriting, he read: “ _Good morning, Beautiful. Working on my art portfolio all day. Miss you already. Love, R_ ”.

Pouting, Enjolras peeled the Post-It off the mirror and sat back down on the bed. It was one of his rare days off, one of those days where he had nothing to do. No homework, no preparations for Les Amis, hell, he was even mostly caught up on the news. He had hoped to spend the day with Grantaire, preferably in bed, though he wasn’t picky. And not just having sex, though of course that would be nice.

Mostly, he wanted to cuddle.

They had spent such little time together lately, both busy, and it seemed of late that they traded kisses in the morning when they woke up and again when they went to sleep, but that was it. He missed the feeling of Grantaire in his arms, missed Grantaire’s curls brushing against his cheek, missed the scratch from Grantaire’s stubble, both against his cheek and elsewhere.

He missed Grantaire’s hands, so strong and capable, yet immeasurably gentle with him. He missed Grantaire’s lips on his, nibbling down his jaw and sucking at his neck, trailing kisses down his chest and…

Abruptly, he stood, cutting off that train of thought. The last thing he wanted was to take a cold shower this early in the morning, and thinking about what he wanted to do with Grantaire was a poor substitute for actually being with Grantaire. He grabbed his phone and sent a text to Combeferre, asking if he could come over.

When he got to Combeferre’s, he accepted the offered cup of coffee and sank into a chair at the kitchen table, frowning at the sound of Courfeyrac singing loudly in the shower. Combeferre sighed and sat down across from him, sipping his own coffee. “So,” he said, leaning forward, “what brings you here this morning?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I thought we might go over the strategies again for the protest.”

“You mean the protest that’s in three weeks, the one that we’ve already planned out practically down to the minute?” Combeferre asked mildly, though his eyebrows rose.

Flushing slightly, Enjolras shrugged again. “Or we could talk about this article that I read in the  _Times_  yesterday, the one about—”

Combeferre interrupted with, “You mean the article that  _I_  sent you?”

Now Enjolras was definitely bright red, and staring determinedly at the kitchen table. Combeferre sighed. “Enjolras, I hate to say it, hate to even mention it, but if I didn’t know better, I’d say that you were, well…bored.”

“I’m not bored!” Enjolras said defensively, because he  _wasn’t_  bored, he couldn’t  _be_  bored. People like Enjolras did not get bored. There was always work for him to be doing, always something for him to be thinking about.

He was just unfortunate in that the thing he wanted to be thinking about was Grantaire’s ass.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre said, patiently as he could manage, even if his tone of voice suggested he was seconds away from rolling his eyes, “I know Grantaire is busy today, and it’s ok to be a bit lonely and bored when you’re by yourself and missing your boyfriend.”

Enjolras frowned. “How do you know Grantaire is busy?”

Combeferre met his gaze squarely. “Because you wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened and he opened his mouth to retort, to somehow argue with that, no matter how true it was, but then Courfeyrac strolled into the kitchen, still singing under his breath. “Enjolras!” he exclaimed, slinging a companionable arm around Enjolras’s shoulders, oblivious to Enjolras’s obvious tension. “What brings you here on your day off?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras muttered, draining his cup of coffee and setting the mug on the table. “I was just leaving.”

Courfeyrac looked at Combeferre for a quick moment, having a silent conversation with him, before saying enthusiastically, “Well, since it’s your day off, what do you think about accompanying me to the Corinthe?”

Enjolras frowned up at him. “It’s the  _morning_ ,” he said. “Even Grantaire doesn’t drink before noon, especially on a weekday.”

“Ah, but my friend, you have not been introduced to the wonders of brunch at the Corinthe,” Courfeyrac told him. “Best mimosas and bloody marys in town, and since they’re made with juice, they’re practically healthy. Even you can’t complain.”

Though Enjolras looked helplessly at Combeferre as if begging him to step in, he instead found himself walking with Courfeyrac to the Corinthe, which was unoccupied except for one person who was drinking a coffee and reading the newspaper. “What the hell kind of brunch is this?” he hissed at Courfeyrac as they sat down at the bar.

Courfeyrac picked up one of the mimosas and handed it to Enjolras, clinking his glass against it. “The kind that involves no actual food and both of our days off in the only bar in this part of town that serves booze before noon. Cheers!”

Three mimosas and a bloody mary later, Enjolras set his head down on his arms, groaning loudly. “Why is he  _busy_?”

Courfeyrac slung an arm around Enjolras’s shoulders, missed, and pulled him into a chokehold that he clearly thought was affectionate. “Why are any of us busy?” he asked wistfully. “Why do any of us do the things we do? What is the meaning of any of this?”

Enjolras blinked at him. “I forget how philosophical you pretend to be when you’ve been drinking,” he muttered.

“Alas, my philosophy cannot compare to Combeferre or Joly’s,” Courfeyrac said, nearly tipping off of his stool and taking Enjolras with him.

Sighing, Enjolras pushed Courfeyrac back onto his stool and shrugged out of his death grip. “Courf, go home, you’re drunk.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to Grantaire, asking when he was going to be done.

When he didn’t get a response, he sighed heavily and shoved his phone back into his pocket and glancing over at Courfeyrac, who was halfway through his fourth bloody mary. “Are you gonna be ok by yourself?”

Courfeyrac looked up at him and waved a dismissive hand. “Feuilly’s joining me in like twenty minutes. Go. Be free. Do what you must.”

“Ok, Courf.” Enjolras stood, waiting for his equilibrium to catch up with him, and then headed to Grantaire’s studio. He knew that he shouldn’t, that he should let Grantaire work so that he could be home on time. They would have all tonight together.

But patience was not a virtue that Enjolras was particularly known for, and he wanted Grantaire in his arms  _now_.

So he headed up to Grantaire’s studio, not even pausing to knock on the door before barging in. “Grantaire!” he called, crossing over to him.

Grantaire whirled around, eyes wide. “Jesus fuck, Enj, the hell are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” Enjolras said simply, his voice starting to slide into a pout. “And I know you’re working and you’re busy, but I had to see you.”

Leaning in, Grantaire sniffed the air. “Have you been drinking?”

Enjolras at least had the good grace to blush slightly. “Courfeyrac made me go out to brunch with him.”

“At the Corinthe?” When Enjolras shrugged, Grantaire chuckled. “My, how our roles have changed. You’re the one day-drinking while I’m the one working. Only I don’t interrupt you when  _you’re_  doing school work.”

Enjolras just stared at him. “You interrupt me when I’m working on a daily basis.”

Grantaire bit back a laugh. “True, but it’s different when I do it.”

“How so?” Enjolras challenged.

Sidling up next to Enjolras and running a hand up his chest to rest on his shoulder, Grantaire said in a low voice, “Whenever I’m interrupting you, I’ve only got one thing on my mind.”

Enjolras leaned in to press a kiss to Grantaire’s lips before he whispered, “Who says I don’t have the same thing on my mind?”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened and he kissed Enjolras, hard, pushing him back so that Enjolras was sitting against one of the tables in the studio, hands on Enjolras’s hips so hard that he thought his fingertips might leave bruises. Enjolras’s didn’t care, pulling Grantaire as close to him as he could, kissing him almost desperately.

After a long moment, Grantaire pulled back, running his hands down Enjolras’s thighs. “Fuck,” he hissed. “You are the worst fucking distraction, I swear to God.”

“Sorry,” Enjolras said, sounding anything but. “I can go if you want me to.”

Grantaire ran a hand through his hair. “No, it’s fine. Just…sit in the corner until I’m done, alright? And don’t talk to me. And if you’re a good boy…” He kissed the corner of Enjolras’s mouth, smiling wickedly.

Enjolras nodded quickly. “Sir, yes sir,” he said, kissing Grantaire once before dragging a chair into the corner so he could watch Grantaire work.

As much as he wanted to be holding Grantaire right now, kissing Grantaire right now, he had to admit that he liked watching Grantaire work, watching as Grantaire got lost in himself, his arm sweeping as he painted across the canvas, the way the muscles in his back and shoulders tensed and moved. Grantaire was never so focused or so serious as when he was painting, and Enjolras loved seeing him like this.

He watched him for a good ten minutes in silence, but the way Grantaire’s muscles moved under his t-shirt was mesmerizing, and Enjolras couldn’t help himself from standing, from slowly drifting over to Grantaire, to kissing him thoroughly, ignoring the way Grantaire laughed against his lips.

“You have paint all over you,” he said, only vaguely disapproving as he nodded down at Enjolras’s shirt, where the paintbrush in Grantaire’s hand had gotten caught when Enjolras had kissed him. “And it’s your own fault.”

Enjolras looked down at the paint and shrugged. “Well, then there’s nothing to stop me from doing it again.”

Grantaire, however, did stop him when he leaned in to kiss him again. “Nope. You, sir, are a terrible influence, and thus I cannot have you around here when I’m trying to work.” He pushed Enjolras away from him gently and ordered, “Go get me a coffee. One from that coffeeshop that you know I love.”

“The one that’s across town?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.

Grantaire smiled sweetly at him. “That’s right. Go get me a coffee, and by the time you get back, I’ll be done.”

Enjolras leaned in and kissed him again. “I love you.”

Rolling his eyes, Grantaire pushed him towards the door, though he was smiling as he did so. “You are absolutely ridiculous. I love you, too. Now go!”

Ducking down to kiss Grantaire one more time, Enjolras left, the biggest grin on his face and paint everywhere. If this was how Grantaire felt everytime he disrupted Enjolras, maybe he’d have to cut him a little more slack next time. Especially if this was the end result.


End file.
